What the Calendar Doesn't Say
by Moonlit Dreaming
Summary: Five days, five couples, five moments. Snapshots featuring, Mary x Gray, Karen x Rick and more. Contest Entry. FoMT. Oneshot.


**Disclaimer: **Harvest Moon is not mine.

**Note: **This is my entry for the Village Square Writing Contest. Theme was 'Festival'. The idea was born out of the fact that I couldn't settle on one festival... so I wrote about as many as I could cram in. Enjoy!

What the Calendar Doesn't Say

_Spring 14__th__ – The Girl Who Couldn't See_

For a morning in the middle of spring, it was frosty. She watched it cling in delicate patterns to the window pane and, though the library was warm, fought not to shiver. Warm it may have been, but it was also still and nearly silent. You'd think she'd be used to that.

Mary longed for the rustle of pages, not the 'click, click,_ click'_ of the clock as it trudged through the hours. And for conversation – even, if not especially, the stunted, stuttering, awkward variety she'd become so used to.

She smiled; she had read the same line at least ten times, but didn't care.

The library was closed. Official policy on festival days – she had no choice. Mary had gone into work nevertheless. What else could she have done? 'Second home' didn't quite cover it, because it was more to her than that. Most people would've called her mad for feeling her most alive whilst cramped behind a dusty desk, pen in hand. Mad or sad. Or both. Well, maybe she was...

But Mary jerked away from the book she was barely concentrating on and stared at the door. She was _certain_ she'd heard a dull thump, then a groan and, yes – _definitely _a low voice muttering to itself.

Her smile became an uncharacteristic grin. Gray.

Realising, at last, that he was locked out, he knocked the door. She answered courteously, but pointed out, with a quick nod to the 'closed' sign, that they were, well... closed.

Gray fiddled with his baseball cap and managed to look adorably sulky. "It's not Monday..." And then, as if he had admitted something horrifically intimate, he flushed crimson.

"It's Spring Thanksgiving," Mary explained. "Cookie day? Didn't your grandfather tell you? He must've been closed today too."

"Oh. _OH." _Silence threatened to swell between. "I thought that was just his goodwill or something," he muttered. "Shoulda' known." Another pause. "But Ann she'll – she'll drive me mental back at the Inn. Lack of work, it gets to her, y'know?"

"I know." Mary bit her lip, considering. "I'll let you in if you don't tell Mayor Thomas? I wouldn't want to be in breach of regulations."

It wasn't often you saw Gray relax into a genuine smile, and even when he did he felt the need to balance it out with twice his usual grumpiness. So laughter was a true rarity. Mary even felt a little proud. Drawing any humour from Gray that wasn't bitter or sarcastic was a true achievement.

The afternoon developed as usual, until around half an hour before "closing" time. Mary looked up from her book once again this time because her single customer had started to fidget – unrelentingly. Not wanting to seem mom-ish, Mary decided it was best not to ask.

He was hard to ignore, though, as he twisted in his chair and attacked his own pockets ferociously. What _was _he doing? She indulged in several furtive glances over her glasses, but felt none the wiser.

"Here."

Mary blinked. She stared at Gray's palm where a square of chocolate, covered in pocket-fluff and half-melted from the Blacksmiths, was sitting. Before she could so much as process this, he had thrust it at her and turned for the door, mumbling, "Happy Thanks – well, you know..."

It was Mary's turn to belatedly remember that it was Spring Thanksgiving. Where guys gave chocolate or cookies or cakes to girls they – girls they –

_Oh Goddess._

_

* * *

_

_Spring 22__nd__ – The Girl Who Couldn't Cook _

"Mmmm." Cliff was nearly _drooling_. "Best festival ever?"

"It's up there," Gray agreed, as memories of the fourteenth flashed through his head. His nostrils twitched. Or was it more of an unpleasant spasm? He frowned. "What is _that?"_

Cutting brutally through the scent of freshly baked bread was a smell so vile that it stuck, bitter, to the back of your throat and overrode everything else. Was it just his imagination of had everyone crowded into Rose Square turned a little... green?

"Karen," Cliff murmured, with the just the slightest nod of his head. He didn't have to add, "Of course," because they were both already thinking it.

Gray sniggered. It was not exactly surprising that Karen was a dreadful cook. Barely an evening went by when she wasn't sat in the bar, rowing with her fiancé, Rick, or challenging all who'd listen to drinking competitions, which she always _always_ won. Honing her cookery skills was surely bottom of her priorities.

But while Karen wasn't an expert in the kitchen, she happened to be adept at blocking out the tuts, sighs and shared looks. They felt like an annoying itch on the back of her neck as she walked up to the judging table. She had long since realised what people thought of her cooking. Not that that would ever stop her entering, oh no. Perhaps one day the Annas and Mannas of Mineral Town – and, who was she kidding, her own mother too – would find some loophole in the rules that would get her permanently banned. Until that day, she would persevere.

Perseverance. Another skill of Karen's. She glanced back through the crowd, searching for the one face that was smiling, not out of spite or amusement, but out of pride. She found him near the back, beside his mother and little sister, her bespectacled 'chicken-boy', Rick. It was a bright spring day and the sunshine bounced both off the puddles and his glasses.

It had taken all her efforts to make him realise that friendship had turned to love – years, really. He was hopeless like that. But for someone who had lied through his teeth about her cooking, had sampled endless hideous dishes... Karen thought he was worth every minute.

She wasn't going to win the Cooking Festival this year, that was a given. She probably wouldn't win it next year, either. But that was the thing about Karen. She still believed, however crazy it was, that she finally would, one day.

* * *

_Summer 24__th__ – The Girl Who Couldn't Say Goodbye_

The weight of the thick summer air had made her hair go frizzier than usual. Today, nothing wanted to go right. Popuri tugged a brush through her pink curls and winced as it snagged on knots she was sure hadn't been there yesterday. The sun was beginning to dip below Mother's Hill, casting long shadows across her little bedroom.

"Popuri!" Rick bellowed up the stairs. "We want to go, okay? Come on – they'll be starting any minute!"

"It's not even _dark,"_ she yelled back. This was true, but not for long. Already the light was fading. Soon, though, the sky would be alight. Popuri lunged at her dressing table and the perfume bottle she had been searching for. Bad move. Fingers merely brushing it, the bottle toppled and rolled out of sight, under her bed. "Damn, damn..." This was _so _not her day.

She didn't care for fireworks, anyway. Naturally, everyone assumed she did. The excitable girly-girl, the kid sister. But really they disappointed her. They were too loud and too sudden and too much. And for all that, they didn't last a heartbeat. So fleeting. The thought made her chest ache. The feeling grew there until she realised that it wasn't about fireworks anymore.

Downstairs, Rick was growing impatient. Popuri barely heard him. She was kneeling on the hard wood floor beside the bed, the perfume bottle forgotten, realising that Mineral Beach was the last place in the world she wanted to be right now. She couldn't do it – not a third time.

"_Popuri!" _She didn't answer immediately and, in the lull, overheard Karen and Rick muttering.

"You two go ahead," she said, rubbing her eyes. Hot tears splashed her cheeks. Her throat tightened; she hoped they couldn't sense the emotion in her voice. "I'll meet you there."

Whether or not Rick could sense the tears in her voice, she could certainly hear the sigh in his. _"Fine._ We'll save you some cotton candy..." The door slammed louder than was necessary. The house was so small and ancient, that Popuri felt the floor shake beneath her.

Blissful silence. So Rick was annoyed with her? She couldn't care less. He was mad that she'd made them late, but he'd be even madder the second she left him and Karen to join Kai. It was ridiculous. She wasn't a baby, and was certainly not going to hang around while her _brother _and his fiancée snogged each other's faces off. Eurgh. Anyway, she'd been dating Kai on and off for two years now...

Emphasis on the 'on and off' part. She saw him one season out of four. Summer. And summer was about to fade. That was the real problem with the Fireworks Festival – it wasn't the fireworks she hated, it was saying goodbye.

She stumbled for the mirror and placed both palms on the glass. Her reflection wavered back. The tear-stained, blotchy look was really not an attractive one. Her eyes were redder than ever, in sharp contrast with her white cheeks. Goddess, she looked _ill... _

A distant _boom._ Now she _was _late. Rick would be fretting, Karen attempting to placate him... what would Kai be doing? Missing her? Wanting her? Making his way here, rose in hand? She shook her head fiercely. No, no, no. He'd asked her, in passing, to come travelling with him. 'Yes' had been on the tip of her tongue, even though her stomach was swooping and she was scared out of her mind. Then, reality hit. This was _Kai._ Kai who probably asked the same question in other towns, to other girls. Now she didn't believe Rick's overblown accusations for a moment, but Kai was only human, he must get lonely...

She did.

No, it was far better this way. Glorious reunions and crushing separations, the wonderful summer days in between more than making up for it. What they had would never last in reality, but for all its heartbreaking downfalls she couldn't bring herself to change a thing. Suddenly, Popuri rocked back from the mirror. The need to be at the beach and with Kai _immediately_ was overwhelming. She flew into such a rush that at first she missed the voice calling up at her window.

"Hey. _Hey._ Poppy?"

"Kai?"

He was stood in the yard, his face illuminated at intervals by the distant fireworks. Blue. Green. Red. "You spoiled my surprise, you know."

"Oh yeah?" Her voice didn't wobble as she expected.

"Come down, I'll show you."

Running down to him, her head felt light, her heart was thundering in her throat and she nearly slipped on the bottom step. Kai was waiting in the threshold, his hands behind his back. For someone so confident, his dark eyes seemed distracted. Blue. Green. Red.

Turns out he hadn't brought her a rose after all. He had brought her a Blue Feather.

Popuri surprised herself. Her first thought was not whether to say yes or no.

It was wondering how the hell she was going to break it to Rick.

* * *

_Autumn 30th__ – The Girl Who Always Won_

"Sit _still,"_ she hissed, "otherwise it's not gonna work."

"Fine by me," he tried to say. She pressed a finger to his lips. Hard.

"And don't talk, either. Or it'll smudge."

Cliff had to settle for a nice, withering roll of the eyes. This was both uncomfortable and humiliating. It was the afternoon of Halloween and the weatherman had forecasted an atmospheric and holiday-appropriate thunder storm. Currently, this had only amounted to weak drizzle and murky grey skies. But Ann was ever hopeful.

"If the storm picks up, I really think it'll add to the general, spooky vibe," she mused. "Plus, it'll physically stop people from leaving."

"Newsflash, Ann: the bar's empty." They were sat alone at one of the tables in the hopelessly desolate restaurant. As it was a festival day, they were meant to be closed anyway. Doug was out of town for a few days, leaving Ann to take charge with a borderline furious enthusiasm.

"I know that," she said, pushing back his thick hair and daubing orange paint onto his forehead. "But once we've gone out like this, drumming up business, the place'll be packed!"

Hoping that she was joking, Cliff laughed. When Ann didn't so much as grin, however, his heart sunk towards his feet: "I love you, okay, but I'm not going outside dressed as a pumpkin."

"Awww, you love me. Thanks." She wasn't listening, clearly. "Will you put on the hat I knitted for you?"

This, Cliff thought, was the definition of a nightmare. Was there a scarier sentence in the English language than that? "No... Ann... please," he whined. "Isn't the smock and the facepaint enough?" He'd seen the hat Ann had knitted. It was flat, shapeless and green. It was supposed to be the pumpkin's stem, but it looked more like a lump of soggy cabbage.

Ann frowned. She was naturally pale, though currently more so due to the white powder covering her freckles. A sheet, swiped from one of the beds upstairs, was draped over her shoulders. As lacking in creativity as it was, Cliff thought a ghost was a much less humiliating costume. _His, _meanwhile, was a favourite of the under fives. Even May and Stu would think him childish.

Overhead, the promised thunder roared at last. They both jumped – though tried to cover it up – then giggled nervously. "Perfect," said Ann, yet Cliff noticed a rare note of uncertainty in her voice. "Shall we go fetch our customers?"

"Are you mad?" Silly question.

"Come on. You'll be thanking me once the profits are rolling in. I'm telling you, themed nights are the way forward."

The Inn flashed startlingly white, followed by another deep rumble. Cliff decided to change tact. "People might think we're trick-or-treating."

"That's true!" Ann shrugged. "Can't complain about free candy, though."

This time when Cliff laughed, he was genuinely amused. "I love the way you think..."

Ann winked, her blue eyes more mischievous than ever. "Well, that's why you married me."

When they broke out of their kiss, their make-up had smudged. Ann's ghostly pallor had been tainted orange around the mouth. This, for Cliff, was an added bonus. He struck upon an idea. "We can't go out, right, 'cause the rain'll wash all our make-up off," he explained, all in one triumphant rush.

"Heh, it'll take more than that to wash that stuff off completely," Ann muttered.

"...What?"

"Nothing, nothing..."

* * *

_Winter 24__th__ – The Girl Who Never Forgot_

There were some traditions in life that would forever be worth honouring. Even if they didn't really matter anymore, even if the meaning was altering constantly and even if your life was incomparably different now, they were just worth it. For Elli, this was one of those special traditions.

She was sat in the lounge of her childhood home watching a fresh flurry of snow fall over an already deep blanket. She shivered and didn't envy Tim having to venture out into it later. Admittedly, he only had to walk a few steps from the Clinic to here, but it was still a daunting task if the snow continued to fall this thickly. In spite of this, Elli was certain he'd make it, dead on 6 o'clock, like always.

Like every year.

Her grandmother was sat next to the fireplace, dozing off. Stu was lying on his stomach on the rug, apparently writing a love letter to his beloved May. The cakes were in the oven. This lull – which was quite unusual when compared to the chaos of previous years – allowed Elli to drift back into the past.

They originally invited the doctor around on the 24th out of pity more than anything. It was all Ellen's idea, really. _He'd _never ever have thought to ask. It simply wouldn't have occurred to him to take an evening off work for something as frivolous as socialising. At first, he was almost as robotic as he was at work. Over time, though, he softened. Laughing at Stu's rubbish jokes, complimenting Ellen's cooking... but somehow he couldn't seem to act anything more than just civil towards Elli.

She assumed he saw as her as an employee and nothing more. He was a professional after all.

But one evening as she went to show the doctor out, her grandmother grabbed her wrist and tugged her back. "Kiss him," she whispered.

"Gran!"

"I mean it, Elli," the old woman insisted. "Just kiss the boy goodnight. Go on. Trust your grandmother – he's lovely boy, but he'll never work it by himself. He needs a little... prompting, that's all."

"Oh – I don't know – but what if he actually doesn't like me, Gran?" At last, her long held fears came tumbling out.

Ellen simply smiled. "Do you trust me or not?"

Although Elli had her doubts at the time, she certainly did afterwards. One awkward conversation followed the one awkward kiss, until eventually they simply seemed to run out of awkwardness.

The sound of the baby crying in his basket jolted Elli back to the present. She walked to comfort him, musing that this truly was a Starry Night of milestones. Last year, she had welcomed her fiancé at 6 o'clock.

This year, her husband.


End file.
